


One by One

by Cuddleclown



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ageplay, Bottlefeeding, Diapers, Infantilism, Pacifiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuddleclown/pseuds/Cuddleclown
Summary: Phil Coulson is probably the daddiest Daddy to ever daddy. Steve Rogers is America's Dad. Do the other Avengers really think they can pretend to be neutrals for long?The answer is no. No they cannot.





	1. Chapter 1

An agent suddenly disappearing on their handler mid-mission, while uncommon, was not necessarily a point of concern. Some agents, notorious for their inclination to “be heroes” or “never leave a man behind”, would do this every other week, it seemed. Everyone knew never to ask Tony to leave a fight without Spidey by his side after the infamous Long Island Battle. However, not everyone was this inclined to brazenly go against their handler. In a world full of littles, it wasn’t uncommon for agents to need to have their handler in their ear 24/7. 

If anyone were to ask Phil Coulson, he would say it was for their own good. Littles needed that little extra safety net. While rare, littles could age down in the middle of a mission if it went that far south. Plus, littles responded well to having someone with them at all times, giving them directions and providing company. Don't get him wrong, this isn't the 60’s. Littles are perfectly able to lead successful professional lives. Even as super spies. Or superheroes. There was still room for improvement on that front as far as Phil was concerned, though. In a world filled with summer camps for kids whose parents believed they could destroy the budding little in them, there was room for improvement. In a world full of stories of parents who had kicked their children out for testing as little, there was room for improvement. For something so integral to a third of society, it was truly remarkable that they were still treated so poorly. 

Peter had actually gotten tested, just… last month? Phil mused. Even though the entire team assured him that he’d still be an Avenger if he tested as a little, he had still gone into the testing center with red eyes and the occasional hiccup. Luckily, Peter tested as a neutral. Seeing as how littles can fall into a headspace as old as 16 and kids get tested at 15, sometimes it really is a guessing game. Tony had been sure the kid would be around 13. Peter’s “bright eyed boyishness and inclination towards wanting adult approval” was a solid argument for a tween headspace, but Phil had correctly bet that Peter would walk out of the testing center with a relieved smile and a Neutral diagnosis. Tony’s scowl as he handed over $20 was almost as wonderful as Peter’s smile when the $20 went to celebratory milkshakes.

The Coulsons had raised their son right, and when Phil walked into the testing center his 15th birthday, he knew that he would be loved no matter how he turned out. But maybe it was easier for his parents. Phil Coulson had been a daddy since day one, and absolutely no one thought he would test as anything other than a caregiver. While some people found caregiving to be difficult, and require lots of little learning experiences, it had always just come naturally to Phil. Perhaps that’s why he was one of SHIELD’s best handlers. He had risen through the ranks quickly, as littles responded so well to his kind words and after mission care, and caregivers couldn’t argue with the positive results he brought. He was one of SHIELD's greatest, and every agent regardless of status had been jealous of Clint for WEEKS when he had landed Phil as a handler. 

Clint nearly cost him his career in Budapest when he went dark, though.


	2. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's backstory. Budapest is up next, though!

Clint Barton was the luckiest guy in all of SHIELD. Maybe even the world. After a childhood filled with learning circus tricks to perform for a few bucks here and there with his brother Barney, somehow he had landed a gig as a superspy. How awesome was that! No longer was he stuck juggling on street corners or running from concerned adults wanting to know where their parents were. So maybe he didn’t get a proper schooling, but there was no one with more street smarts than Clint Barton, no sir. Plus, it wasn’t like he was stupid. He and Barney had hidden in the library until after close often, and he figured he might as well read while he was there. The library nights were the best. The couches were comfortable, there were loads of books for all kinds of people, and a brother who only sometimes chose to mock him for being a nerd. 

He didn’t really notice the brown-haired man he bumped into as he was stealing some fruit from a bodega, too focused on the task at hand. But oh, did the man notice him. If Clint had bothered to look, he would have most likely been confused by the amused smile on the man’s face. Clint walked out the door as the brown-haired man was conveniently distracting the shopkeeper by paying for a Coke (and the fruit Clint was stealing). Clint wasn’t expecting the man to reappear five blocks down, or for him to hand him a soda and his business card. It wasn’t common for SHIELD employees to bring recruits in for testing and training, but when SHIELD’s best and brightest decides to bring in a street-smart young man looking for a career opportunity? Well, who could say no to Phil Coulson?

Clint had EXCELLED in training. There was no better feeling than scoring at the top of his class and seeing Coulson beam up at him, or give him a congratulatory hug. God, the hugs. Barney hadn’t been much of a hugger, and Clint was always so embarrassed by how he would just melt into the older man’s embrace. It wasn’t right for a neutral to be so needy. But Phil had assured him that everyone, regardless of orientation, needed to be loved and held. No one was shocked when Clint was admitted into SHIELD, nor when he was allowed to go on solo missions. But he had caused some stir when Coulson had all but demanded to be his handler. Fury had pointed out the obvious problems with Coulson being able to remain levelheaded if Clint was in danger. Plus, Coulson was beloved by all of SHIELD. Why should he be mainly tied down to a newbie recruit who preferred to act alone? Phil was meant to lead a team! 

Nobody had ever wanted Clint that badly. He wasn’t really sure why the caregiver took such an interest in him. It wasn't like he was a little. Technically, he hadn’t really ever been tested, but would a little be able to survive out in the streets the way Clint had? Of course not! Clint was no caregiver, either. So he had to be a neutral. Why did Phil Coulson care about him? 

He wasn’t the only one asking that question. The SHIELD littles refused to talk to him for a solid month after Coulson had threatened to resign if Clint wasn’t assigned to him. Why would the “daddiest daddy to ever daddy” want street trash? Not even jealous littles could do anything to bring his mood down. He had the world’s best job, the world’s best handler, and for some reason his handler liked him enough to pay attention to him. Not just “good mission!” hugs. But, like. Proper attention. Phil knew his favorite pizza toppings (after a lifetime on the streets his favorite pizza toppings was “yes, please!”), his favorite movies (it took him a year to admit he had always loved Barney movies because it upset his older brother), his favorite everything. Phil assured him it was in everyone’s best interest if he knew Clint inside and out. For saving the world stuff. At the end of the day, who would really ever question free pizza?

Everything changed in Budapest.


	3. Budapest pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Nat!

   
Clint had just started to really get in the groove of the whole “being a spy” thing. His coworkers had finally started to lay off him for landing SHIELD's best handler, he was starting to make friends, and he was excelling in his missions. He finally had a future to look forward to, and that was never something he thought he would have the luxury to have. He knew every day he would wake up at 5, train for an hour, head to work, and hopefully land a mission that involved minimal damage to both himself and others. March 3rd was supposed to be just another one of those days. He walked into SHIELD at 6:15 sharp, had three whole people say hi to him, and was handed a mission report by 6:20. It was an easy mission, or at least as easy as super spy missions could get, Clint supposed. An Eastern European diplomat was meeting with questionable arms dealers, and all Clint had to do was kidnap him after he met with the dealers for questioning. His "New-Agent Nerves" had all but worn off, and by the time Clint landed in Budapest he was mainly just looking forward to being back home for the pizza night that had become tradition between him and his handler. 

It had been weird, in the beginning. It was weird enough just having his own apartment, really. With SHIELD’s salary he could have afforded something decently sized, but all the apartments he toured just felt too big. He was just one kid, and not used to having much. He was perfectly fine with the one-bedroom apartment he decided on, especially since it was a block away from his favorite burger joint. His apartment had the few sparse things Clint had kept in his backpack over the years, a bed, food, some toiletries, and not much else. The first time Clint heard a knock on his door he jumped into Spy Mode- gun in hand, edging to the door alongside the wall, the whole nine yards. Phil was kind enough not to mention the gun in his hand when Clint opened the door to see his handler carrying a pizza box in his. Pizza nights had quickly become the best part of the job, and Clint was no longer on red alert every time he heard knocks at his door. 

He had been more than a little ashamed that Coulson looked so sad to see his apartment so sparse. Clint didn't think he was the type to need decorations, or even want them. He had sprung for a flat screen TV and a king size bed, and that was more than enough. Phil disagreed. Clint went to the fridge to grab some beers and told his handler he could pick the movie in an attempt to get Phil off of the idea of decorating his apartment for him. He was expecting something Terminator-esque, but he walked back into the living room to see Hotel Transylvania on the screen. Phil shrugged it off, saying that he preferred to watch non-violent movies to counteract the stress of the job. Clint didn’t exactly agree with the choice, but he had long ago lost the ability to turn down a free meal. So that’s how it went. Clint would come back from a mission, Coulson would show up, and they would drink, eat junk, and watch kiddie stuff. Clint chalked it up to Coulson just being a huge dad. His lame dad brain was hardwired to enjoy the dumb kid movies that his future little would love. Biology, or something. He had grown used to it, though. Lately he could understand more and more why Phil preferred non-violent stuff. Sometimes the job sucked. It was nice to just drink a lot and let the world get blurry as he watched kid movies with his best friend. The guys at work didn’t have to know. 

The guys at work also didn't have to know that Phil took him shopping and they bought some more appliances, decorations, and blankets for his apartment. Project: House to Home, as Phil had cheekily named it, involved lots of blankets. Clint laughed when Phil nonchalantly put toy soldiers in the cart when they reached the toy section of the store. As Phil ventured deeper, Clint had attempted to insist that he was a grown man, much too old for toys, and that it would just be a waste of money. Phil looked at him with a sad, knowing smile and asked if Clint had ever had a stuffed animal. Clint shook his head no, and began to explain why he didn't need, want, or care about stuffed animals, but Phil just steered him over towards the large wall of plush toys and insisted that he be there for "baby's first stuffed animal". Clint would probably have been angry about being babied, but he really didn't have the leverage to complain. No one had ever cared about him, and he wasn't about to ruin his first friendship because he was upset about being forced to have a stuffed animal. So there he was, blushing harder than he ever had in his entire life, trying desperately to ignore the mother and small child next to him who were obviously looking at him like he was a freak, unable to pick a stuffed animal. He grabbed the first thing he saw, and attempted to shove it into Coulson's hands. Phil refused to take it and waited until they were alone before turning Clint around once again and asking him to pick something that stood out, not just the first thing he saw on the rack. Clint should have been furious! He absolutely had the right to! But Phil knew he had made the right choice when he saw Clint's eyes widen almost imperceptibly as he noticed a light blue bear. It wasn't unnecessarily large, but it was substantial enough for a grown person to hold. Clint acted unimpressed when Coulson picked it up, but Clint took every opportunity to test the bear's softness when Phil handed him other things to put in the cart. 

Phil was so annoyingly pleased that Clint finally had a space to call home, and Clint was easygoing enough to not be too bothered that the space had more toys and more baby blue things than he otherwise would like. It wasn't a very Neutral space, but it was Clint's, and Phil said that any way Clint could decorate his apartment would be Neutral, since its occupant was. It was kind of nice to have more than just a TV and beers at home, although he'd never admit it. He had always been prone to nightmares, and waking up to BooBoo (Clint hadn't named the bear) and getting to curl up under blankets was definitely a better option than just staring at the wall, waiting for sleep to take him again. After his years on the streets, he wasn't particularly fond of thunderstorms. The white noise machine Phil had brought over on a whim after Clint had shown up to work absolutely exhausted after a rainy night had worked wonders. He would lie in bed, Blankie and Booboo in his arms, and feel content for the first time in his life. Sometimes if they'd had too much to drink, Phil would sleep over, too. Clint had always preferred to be the big spoon, but something about having Phil's arms wrapped around him just amplified the content feeling in his tummy. So it was whatever. No one had to know he was happy. 

Complacency is, of course, when things always go wrong. Clint had never experienced such a long stretch of stability in his life, though, so it wasn’t really his fault he didn’t know this. There he was, sitting in his nest, waiting for the diplomat to appear. It was quiet. A squirrel had scampered by half an hour ago. A yawn escaped him. Shockingly, even super cool super spy stuff could be rather boring. One minute he was falling asleep, the next he heard a soft thump as he was grabbed from behind and pulled to the ground. His attacker was easily the most beautiful agent he had come across to date. She was tall and had shoulder length dark red hair, but her eyes were so cold. She fought dirty and although she looked to be about the same age as Clint if not younger, she was definitely better trained. Clint could usually hold his own in face to face combat, but it seemed like she took one look at him and knew every move he would make before he even thought to make it. If his life wasn’t on the line, he would be impressed. She kicked out his knee and from the sound it made in addition to the horrific pain that shot up his leg, she had broken it. 

He fell to the ground as he heard his gun being cocked. He didn’t have to look up to know it was pointed at him. He could hear Phil yelling in his ear, begging to know if he was okay. Maybe that was what broke him. He had long ago lost his fear of death, but how could he let down the first person to ever think he was special? That he was capable? How could he leave his best friend? The world started to become fuzzy and he couldn’t help the broken sob that escaped him. As his terrified sobbing continued, he realized the warmth spreading through his lower body was not blood, but urine. Then a shot rang out, and it was both.


End file.
